


dragonflies

by idontknowhowtoread (heatherpotts)



Category: PBG Hardcore
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fae & Fairies, HOO MAMA, M/M, also descriptions of.. a corpse in part 2 but.. dont even worry bout it.., i researched a lot of fae stuff for this i hope i got it all right auhghg, im so sorry for this i dont know how or why it got so long and bonkers, listen to my playlist please i think it slaps.., lots of kind of semi defined magic, theres a whole dream sequence in part 2 thats just that, when i put white winter hymnal on the playlist i really meant that shit fhgdf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 08:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21714157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatherpotts/pseuds/idontknowhowtoread
Summary: Rendered desperate by the mysterious disappearance of his brother, Mcjones calls upon the help of a fae.
Relationships: Dean Elazab/Stewart Hargrave
Comments: 12
Kudos: 7





	1. Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LETS GO CHAMP THIS GOT SO LONG AND I DONT KNOW WHY BUT WE'RE HERE
> 
> okay so. this whole au concept came from [this](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/552216513663336449/653089241030459402/does_dean_is.jpg) tumblr post that bronze shared so credit there, shout out, and basically began the joke of does dean elazab is fae
> 
> ,,,, and then I wrote this whole mess. that's basically it. im a fool
> 
> as is for all of my fics but just to emphasize bc of how long this is and the,, Turn it takes, this is fiction, no disrespect meant to the real life people this is based on and this does not reflect them, if you are one of those people this is based on or close to them (you know who you are >:/) cut the cameras.. deadass.. like I cant stop you but. just to prevent everyone involved from being uncomfortable please don't read this ok thanks
> 
> also I'm sorry for not having posted anything in so long I been working on this,, next bts chapter should be the next thing I post but,, fae time now, again im so sorry for how long this is, its in 2 parts, part 2 is a little bit shorter but. yeah get ready!!
> 
> also also, have a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3K0sQv2hJDaHPS6WtJBoUG?si=7D9ZNuwPSVKlXv5V7Nt1vQ) thanks obama

For the first time in months, Mcjones wasn't alone.

Mcjones went over his recipe in his head, trying to reason with himself how exactly he had gotten to this point, or maybe just distract himself; a couple bundles of wheat, dressed with petals of marigold and zinnia, leaves of holly and exactly six of Mcjones’ shiniest copper coins. The offerings consisting of those ingredients, spread out over merely four days, was all it took for Mcjones to find himself a fae. It was simple, maybe a bit worrying as to how easy it was to bring a fae to him, and _ maybe _the fae truly found him for another reason entirely.

But Mcjones didn’t want to think about that, then. He didn’t want to think about just how stupid of an idea this whole thing was, how he had agonized over committing to this for months and still, somehow, come to the wrong conclusion. He repeated to himself in his head every rule of fae interaction, to listen and be polite, to never say sorry or thank you, to be incredibly careful with words and to never tell the fae your name, but he didn’t even want to think about how the fae was here at all. That he was _ doing this. _After how he had weighed all of his options, recalled in painful detail every story he’d ever heard about fae manipulating and playing with humans like toys, trapping them in the fae realm and even sending them straight into the jaws of death; Mcjones couldn’t lie, he was terrified. 

But he supposed that that fear, that knowledge of the trickery of fae and the everlasting hell that being trapped in the fae realm would be was the reason he was doing this in the first place. He couldn’t say he had all that much left to lose. 

Except for the farm, he figured. But it had never been the same, since…

“I must say, these are some beautiful offerings. Very thoughtful,” The fae purred, laying in the grass in front of Mcjones, on the other side of the offering. As innocent and even _ intimate _as the nature of their first meeting was, merely sitting in the grass together as the chilled October breeze rolled past them, Mcjones still couldn’t help but feel frozen to the bone. 

The fae was… _ well, _not like Mcjones had never seen a fae before, but certainly not what he was expecting. This fae was… still rather elaborate, as was their nature, but in a very different way than Mcjones was expecting. Not in the way of flowing fabrics and dresses, of flowery and vibrant colors, of otherworldly beauty for some and instilling absolute terror for others; this fae was… none of that. 

He was beautiful, that was Mcjones’ first real coherent thought. But not in a very fae-ish way, it was almost _ painfully _ familiar, the sudden whiplash just seeing the fae’s face gave him and the twisting feeling that settled into his gut immediately after realizing exactly what he’d gotten himself into. He wore a white dress shirt, the sleeves very frilly and detailed, covering half of his hands and somewhat reminiscent of _ wings, _ yet so much more _ casual _ than Mcjones ever would have thought to expect from a fae. Beyond that, a simple pair of black pants with the slightest accent of silver, barefoot with brown eyes deep and dark enough to drown in, a lace of blue gemstones around his neck; _ surely, aquamarine? _ A set of glasses that surely he didn’t need, a crown of what Mcjones believed to be pale snapdragons braided into his hair, which was cut surprisingly short for a fae and black as the night; all of those things were remarkable, sure, but the wings he let show proudly, hanging from his back, were utterly gorgeous. Like that of a dragonfly’s, Mcjones couldn’t help but notice; delicate and mostly transparent, iridescent but highlighted in that same silver.

… Also, his voice didn’t match his face in the slightest. Tinny was the first word that came to mind; another was honeyed,_ cunning. _Not quite strident, but certainly enough to throw Mcjones off his guard, if he ever really had one that was worthwhile.

In an instant, as Mcjones found himself drinking in every little detail of the fae, he realized just how out of his depth he was. Just how idiotic this was, how foolish it was for the mere farmer’s son he was to even think he could get on the level of and bargain with such a powerful, _ beautiful _ fae; surely, this fae belonged to the winter court, considering the season and his color scheme, which was the stupidest decision and timing Mcjones could have possibly gone with, because that was the court that was supposedly meant to _ hate _ humans. And how he was completely and utterly _ screwed, _ that for all he knew, this fae wasn’t like any of the others and may not even follow the rules Mcjones had memorized. That the fae sitting in front of him, cradling Mcjones’ offering in his hands and fluttering his wings ever so _ tantalizingly _slowly, was going to be the end of him.

He was never going to get his brother back at this rate. 

Mcjones wrapped his arms around himself, shivering as another gust of wind blew past them, and took a deep breath. He stopped himself from saying _ thank you, _ clutching his own arms as if to keep himself in line, and produced a tight lipped smile. _ Just be polite. _

“I’m… glad you like them. I was worried they weren’t going to be enough,” Mcjones murmured, letting his eyes drift back down to the fae’s hands, watching him twirl a copper coin between his fingers. 

“Oh, of course not,” The fae reassured, smiling brightly, but only succeeding in terrifying Mcjones even more. “You are most kind. But I assume you’ve left me these for… a reason, haven’t you?”

_ Now or never, _Mcjones knew. This was what he came here to do, what the point of all these offerings was and why he bothered fretting over it for so long. 

“Yes,” Mcjones confirmed in almost a whisper, so much weaker than he wished he could have been. “I… If you’d be so kind as to accept it, I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

The fae’s grin fell into a lopsided, vicious smirk, tilting his head to the side. In those eyes, deep and dark, there wasn't any wrath or insult taken like Mcjones thought there might have been, but amusement. The game had just begun.

“... And what would that be?” The fae asked, enunciating just slightly more harshly, closing the offering into his hands and seeming to do away with it entirely. _ No more distractions. _

“... Last… summer, it was July I believe, my… my brother went missing,” Mcjones explained, suddenly finding himself completely out of breath, a sharp pain piercing his chest. He wasn't sure why, either it was the memory, or the fae was already doing… _ something. _ Images flashed by in Mcjones' mind, of children playing adventurers and using sticks as swords in rippling fields of wheat, of applying the bandages and telling his brother to stop crying every time he managed to get himself hurt doing the dumbest things; when they agreed to take over this very farm, to take on this duty together, to _ stay. _

When _ Austin _ left that fateful day, heading off into the forest to gather some flowers or mushrooms or _ whatever _it was he wanted, and never coming home. That night Mcjones spent staring out the window, at the path to the forest, at the stars that offered him no answer. The confused and sympathetic reactions of the other villagers when he asked them if they had seen him, but not one had a clue.

Mcjones took a deep breath, trying to push down those thoughts and failing miserably. But still, he knew he had no other choice. If all this pain was what it took to get him back, he didn't care.

"... And if you could… help me at all, in finding him, I'll do anything you want."

That was reckless phrasing; Mcjones knew it was. A promise, even, something that he was sure the fae would hold against him like a sharpened blade against his throat. Something with no boundaries, no parameters, no contract, no _ true _understanding of the lengths this fae might go; but with the little that Mcjones knew, he had no doubt that this would get ugly. 

He took another breath, closing his eyes, leaving himself completely to the fae's mercy. He didn't even want to know what look the fae was giving him, how widely he might be grinning, what could possibly be on his mind.

"... _ Anything _ is… quite the offer, I'll give you that," The fae mused, chuckling low in his throat. "But how, exactly, am I meant to find this… brother of yours? I'd need something to work with, a possession, an idea of where he went, a na-"

"He was taken to the fae realm," Mcjones interrupted, his heart beating against his chest like a tiny bird trying to get free. "... I know he was. I don't know by who, or what, but he wouldn't just _ leave." _

The fae reacted… _ underwhelmingly _ to Mcjones' outburst, simply looking him over, his smile falling only slightly.

"... Taken, you say?" The fae replied, a certain frigid bitterness in his voice practically giving Mcjones a heart attack, every part of himself freezing in place. He had been rude, hadn't he?

"I… My apologies, I…" Mcjones stammered, the air he breathed suddenly so much colder, heavier. "I shouldn't have burst out like that, that was rude of me. I don't know, truly, if he was taken or if he went willingly, for all I know, but I'm sure he's there. He'd have popped up by now if he was still in this realm."

“... Alright. If you say so,” The fae muttered, sighing and _ tsk- _ ing quietly. “But again, how _ exactly _ am I supposed to find this person? Do you understand just how _ big _ the realm of fae is? I need _ something _to go off of.”

“Uh- Um, well…” Mcjones hesitated, going over the rules in his head and having a full-on debate with himself over what he should tell the fae. But it was far from a formal one, growing muddied as voices screamed over one another, _ knowing _ he had to do something, and quickly before he was thought rude, but having no idea _ what. _ Should he tell the fae Austin’s name? _ No, _ of course not, that would put _ him _ in danger too, and would demolish his chances of getting Austin back if the fae had that much power over him. What about showing him a picture? Or would that give him too much information, too much emotional leverage? A possession of his had to be too powerful as well. Could Mcjones just describe him, or would that be too much? Too little? _ God almighty. _

“Okay, I can’t exactly… Tell you his name, or give you any possessions-”

“Why not?” The fae asked, all too innocently.

“_But, _I can describe him to you, what he was wearing and what happened on the day he vanished. Would that be enough?” 

The fae huffed, looking only mildly annoyed, but that still being much more dangerous than Mcjones was comfortable with. “I doubt it, but you can certainly try. Really, just locking onto him with a valued possession would be so much more efficient. And you do want to find him, don’t you?”

That one stung, but Mcjones braved it, fidgeting with the fabric of his jeans. 

“... That day, he was wearing, um…” The image returned easily to Mcjones, as if it had never left his immediate recollection, tacked to the corkboard of his mind. A pink tank top, loose and a bit _ immodest _ if Mcjones was being honest, but well suited for the heat, he couldn’t deny that. He remembered the scratches littering his arms, the product of _ repeatedly _ falling into a thornbush around two weeks prior. Mcjones had asked him if they should still be bandaged; Austin said it was fine. Jeans and winter boots, deviating from the _ trying-not-to-die-from-the-heat _thing Mcjones assumed he was going for. Why, Mcjones didn’t know. Brown hair, shaggy and perpetually seeming to get into his eyes, Mcjones didn’t know how he lived with it-

And _ oh, _ from the village earlier that morning, a gift that Austin neglected to tell Mcjones its source; a crown of white roses, sitting stably on his head, made _ just for him. _ What had he said when Mcjones noticed, something like _ cool, right? _

That was exactly what he was wearing, right when he told Mcjones he was going to go gather some _ stuff _in the forest. It was anyone's guess as to exactly what that meant, but Mcjones would bet a little more solidly now on wildflowers. Maybe he wanted to return some favor. That boy Austin liked from the town, Mcjones hadn't seen him in a while, but had it been him…?

And then Austin skipped off into the forest, and Mcjones never saw him again.

The words simply fell from Mcjones’ lips; he had almost forgotten he had been speaking, _ reminiscing, _until the fae nodded, understanding. 

“... Alright. Will that be all?” The fae asked, clearly mentally marking down with effort every word Mcjones had said.

“Yes. Hopefully that’s enough…”

The fae breathed out, gingerly fixing his hair; nothing there to fix, really. And Mcjones couldn’t help but notice that the fae had almost laughed, or had tried to mask it. 

“Sure, I’ll do my best. But no promises,” The fae confirmed, adjusting in his spot, seemingly preparing to leave. After a nod from Mcjones, whispering _ you are most kind _so quietly that Mcjones wasn’t sure if the fae had heard him, and a sudden brisk breeze accompanied by the gentle sound of wings fluttering; the fae was gone.

That left Mcjones alone to wonder, what the _ hell _had he done?

\---

The fae had a strange relationship with time; Mcjones had read about that, he knew. They had a way of manipulating it, of slowing down or speeding up the moments spent in their presence, and for all Mcjones knew, he could have still been somewhat under the fae’s control. 

Maybe it had been longer, maybe it had been only a couple hours. But Mcjones was pretty sure that it had only been two days; not long at all. He’d watched the sun rise and go down, pacing around aimlessly in his home, empty and silent without Austin. Mcjones wasn’t really sure _ how _ he had managed to live here for all these months since Austin disappeared. He supposed he had busied himself with researching the fae and trying to work out his own thoughts, trying to pick out every voice in his head that speculated over what might have happened, begging him to do _ something, _and slowly figuring out a plan from there. But now, all he had to do was wait. 

Watch the sun rise, make some breakfast, walk around in circles and stare out the windows, ignore every little trinket that reminded him of Austin. He’d messed around with spells a couple weeks earlier, but he didn’t bother now. It didn’t feel like he was in control of his own body most of the time, as if possessed by himself, wandering aimlessly and_ impatiently. _ Lay down on the couch and try to rest, fail, make supper, watch the sun go down. Get back on the couch and hope that he would get some news eventually. 

Two days, he was pretty sure. Not long at all, but still an agonizing amount of time to be left helplessly waiting in the dark. 

Day three, that very morning, while he was trying to watch the sunrise sat on his porch- _ Damnit, _ that sounded so wrong, saying _ his. _ It was theirs, their porch, their _ home. _

Day three, that very morning, Mcjones didn’t have to worry about spending another day alone. He wasn’t sure if that was really preferable, but he was thankful for something new.

The fae simply… _ arrived, _ materializing next to Mcjones on the steps, stretched out languidly and _ basking _ in the early morning sun. His wings glittered, Mcjones couldn’t help but notice; it was _ blinding. _

“Good morning,” The fae greeted simply, a glint in his eyes as he glanced over at Mcjones that could be attributed to mischief just as easily as it could be to the sun. 

“... Morning,” Mcjones replied, swallowing harshly, beginning to shiver again. Mcjones was never all that good at coping with the cold, and it was already approaching the season where he had no good reason to be spending all this time out on the porch; but _ good lord, _ the fae must _ always _ drop the temperature by ten degrees wherever he goes. 

Not like that was Mcjones' biggest complaint though, by no means his priority. 

“Um… Any updates, by chance?” Mcjones asked, knowing logically that there _ had _ to be, that the fae wouldn’t just stop by unless he had something for him, unless _ Mcjones _ had something for him to take. But still, he thought he’d be polite, and _ still, _he felt like he was completely in over his head, had felt so this entire time. A little brother shaped grave that he couldn’t possibly dig himself out of now that he had thrown himself in.

The fae sighed, stretching his arms and gently beating his wings a couple times. There was nothing to it, really, just an innocent gesture in preparation for his response; but it scared Mcjones beyond belief. Maybe that was what scared him, that the fae seemed so _ innocent. _

“No luck, I’m afraid,” The fae lamented, laying his chin on his palm and pouting, still giving Mcjones this… _ look, _ bright and _ heart-stopping, _ that completely gave away his mournful… _ whatever _it was he was going for. “I asked around quite a bit, I believe a good something thirty, forty people-"

"Actual _ people, _ not just, like, rocks?" Mcjones interrupted, walking the line of rudeness already. He would blame it on the early morning, having gotten hardly any sleep, but the fae's mere _ presence _had woken him up pretty well. 

The fae chuckled, a smile spreading across his face, as if impressed. Or simply letting down his facade. Was he too excited for whatever was to come…? 

"No, I do mean it. You have my word. Other fae, pixies, tortured souls, spriggans… No luck. My apologies, but I believe I've done… truly, all I can for you with what I've been given," The fae explained, harboring some… _ twinge _ of smugness when he mentioned what he'd been given, making it explicitly clear to Mcjones that _ this, _ whatever it was, this _ danger _ wasn't over. He could appreciate the warning, at least. "So I believe we're at the part of the agreement where you do _ anything _for me, and I’d like to ask your name."

Mcjones felt himself tense, freezing over again, as a hundred half-baked rebuttals and pleas otherwise jumped up into his throat and caught there, not one even reaching his tongue. What had he said, that day? That if the fae helped him find Austin, he'd do anything he wanted. _ God, _ why the _ hell _had he said that? He was screwed, totally and utterly, he-

…

_ Wait. _

He steeled himself, taking a breath, the air whistling past all the panicked words caught in his throat. He held it for a couple seconds, and exhaled, a puff of frost forming from his lips.

"W-well, no. I said that if you helped me find my brother, I'd do anything you wanted, yes?"

"Yes indeed," The fae replied proudly.

"Yes, but, well- We haven't _ found _ my brother yet. So you can't say you've helped me find him, because we _ haven't _yet. So, um- yeah, no. No. Not yet."

The fae simply sat there, taking his time and taking it all in, once again leaving Mcjones to freak out in the solitude of his own mind. Again, it begged the question, what on God's green earth had he done? His heart throbbed, lurching and doing somersaults in his chest, seeming ready to give out at any moment. The rest of him just felt _ numb, _ out of breath with eyes blown wide open. He knew the fae noticed _ every single thing _ about him in that moment, probably wanted him dead by then. That had to be offensive, didn't it? You don't just _ talk back _ to the fae, _ ever, _do you?

Definitely the second scariest thing that had ever happened to Mcjones, he could say that confidently.

After what felt like an eternity, the fae just… smirked, again. Didn't burst out in anger, didn't let out an inhuman screech or rip out his heart, just continued to sit there. Wings fluttering, eyes shining, even a sense of… _ respect _ emanating from him_. _How, Mcjones had no idea.

"... You're good, _ Hargrave_," The fae praised, and put Mcjones right back on the edge of a _ heart attack. _ And clearly, the fae noticed, practically _ cackling _ with the biggest smile Mcjones was sure he had _ ever _ seen, from _ anyone. _

"H-how…" Mcjones spluttered, just sitting there dumbly, words catching in his throat once more, making nowhere near enough room for the oxygen to reach his lungs. "How do you know my name?"

"Oh my _ stars, relax," _ The fae giggled, not seeming like he particularly wanted Mcjones to do so, hands clapped together in sheer glee. "It says Hargrave on the sign out on the path. And I'm pretty sure this is your farm. The name Hargrave really doesn’t give me much power over you, don’t worry, but the look on your face, though!"

Mcjones sighed, his heart rate only slowing down marginally as he processed. The sign, of course. He was fine, he wasn't in danger from the fae. Not yet, at least. He tried forcibly to get himself to stop shaking, to little avail, only managing to tear his wide eyes away from the fae and fixating on the lawn as a way of implying that he was _ fine_. He was fine, wasn't he?

He knew exactly what sign the fae was talking about, remembered in detail the exact day they put it up. Many years ago, must have been five or six? And they both knew little, the future bright but saturated with possibilities that Mcjones had no idea how to even begin with. When this farm first became theirs, officially.

It was early spring, unusually hot for the season. This would begin their first summer of operation, in leadership, in really taking control of their lives. 

Austin had wanted the new sign, of course. He hoped it would draw people in, help get the word out, if only slightly. That they weren't the Hargraves of years past, that they were actually approachable. 

The sign was made of an uneven piece of lumber that looked like Austin had chopped it himself, and while there probably could have been some better choices made, Austin really went to town on it. He practically spent the whole night painting it, almost neon paints that Mcjones had no idea when or how he purchased them, sparkles and rainbows and everything like that. Mcjones wasn't really sold on how effective it would be, being so overwhelming and so… _ passionate _ about graphic design, but he certainly wasn't going to stop Austin.

In big, multicolored lettering, it read "Welcome to Hargrave Farm!" And Mcjones remembered begrudgingly taking the trip up the path to help Austin put it up, which he did so totally crooked, but… it was endearing, really. It definitely looked like an eight year old had led the entire process, not the twenty something Austin was then, but Mcjones really didn't mind.

Austin smiled when he was done, looking back at Mcjones for approval. Leaning onto the tree he had colorfully desecrated, in the early morning sun, Austin gave him a look that Mcjones never let go of. Mentally taking a picture, cropping everything else out and squaring it away safely in his mind. Mcjones couldn't really explain it at the time, but it made him happy beyond belief to see Austin smile, just like that. That childish glee, that absurd naivete, his quintessential little brother.

Of course, the answer was obvious now. He loved his brother, and wanted him to be happy. That really wasn't that hard to grasp.

But maybe if he'd been able to make that clear to himself sooner, if he'd really let Austin know, maybe things would be different now.

"I… Yeah, I…" Mcjones stammered, trying to banish the memory and dragging a hand over his face in an attempt to sober himself. "My... apologies, I understand now."

Mcjones didn't know why he was apologizing, the fae had obviously done it just to freak him out, literally admitting it. Just to be safe, he supposed. The fae only chuckled again, and nothing more.

"But, well… If you're going to know my name, shouldn't I know yours?" Mcjones piped up again, yet another impulse that he really couldn't explain. Maybe this fae was one of the less easily offended, more of the trickster kind, but Mcjones still should have resisted going down this path much more. This was dangerous, unthinking, utterly _ stupid_, and Mcjones really didn't like how comfortable he was getting with the fae.

"... You have a point," The fae responded, as cool and unbothered as always. Maybe it was that the fae was getting comfortable with _ him _ too, and that had to be even scarier. "Although Hargrave isn't… _ exactly _ your name, but you're right, fair's fair. You may call me Dean."

Mcjones blinked, processing the name, turning it over in his mind. Dean. A single syllable, four letters... or however many it was the way he was meant to spell it. Deene? Deīnne? Deýnè? Dean, regardless of the spelling, still seemed like an… uncommon name for a fae, not nearly as fancy or as glamorous as Mcjones was led to believe they always were. He supposed that followed the precedent set by everything else about this _ Dean, _being nothing like what Mcjones expected. 

"... Dean," Mcjones repeated, still testing it out on his tongue. "That's an… interesting name for a fae," He said, intentionally keeping himself from saying something like _ boring. _

"Well, that's because it's not my name!" Dean-_ kind of not really _exclaimed, throwing his hands up in some form of celebration. "But it's what you may call me, mister Hargrave." 

Mcjones pursed his lips, suppressing the urge to smile that seemed to come completely out of nowhere. He really didn't have the time to worry about it, but…

Well, no, he did. Worrying was all he did these days. And that very thing, that simple subconscious response was _ incredibly _worrying.

But he held it down, letting out a sigh once the urge passed. He remained silent for another moment, taking in what all that had meant, then spoke up again.

"... So… _ Dean. _ What… What do we do, then?" Mcjones asked, his voice still much weaker than he would have liked it to be, more fragile than the paper thin wings glistening on Dean's back. Because if Dean had done all he could, were they both just trapped in this contract that neither of them could fulfill? The thought alone was a special kind of hell, the fae just _ sticking around, _ watching Mcjones go about his rounds and sitting on the porch with him in total silence. Subtly rotting crops and hexing tools out of frustration, making himself at home in Austin's room, _ taking his place _as they both waited idly for Austin to return.

Then Dean would demand Mcjones' name, and he'd whisk him off to wherever Austin had come from, subjecting him to lord knows what horrors. 

They couldn't go five minutes without some grim reminder of what Mcjones had gotten himself into, could they? No, a man tied to the railroad tracks wouldn't just forget about the danger he was in, either; the chugging of the engine was always off in the distance, and the tracks themselves dug into his skin. A drowning man wouldn't forget that fact, not when the water was so encompassing, filling his ears, wrapping around his body, swallowing all of his senses.

But still, a little relief would have been nice.

"Oh, right," Dean muttered, getting back on track as he sat up a little straighter, certainly preparing to start terrorizing Mcjones again. "I still do intend to help you find your brother, you have my word on that."

Somehow, that wasn't nearly as comforting to Mcjones as it should have been.

"But just wandering around in the fae realm would be wasting both of our times. So, _ again_, I need something to track him with, preferably an important possession, something sentimental. I don't know if you need me to explain the magic behind it, but basically, anything that has a piece of his soul in it. It'll give me something to look for, and because of soul stuff, wanting to reunite, it'll help me trace back to exactly where he is," Dean explained, his tone of voice clearly getting back to business, more _ rehearsed _ than Mcjones was comfortable with. "You can take all the time you need to pick something out, but I just need _ something_."

Mcjones swallowed the lump rising in his throat, nodding. This is exactly what he didn't want, granting Dean that object of emotional leverage, _ power _ over them both. Being a fae, by no unpopular opinion, Mcjones didn't exactly _ trust _him with that power.

… But if he wanted his brother back, if he wanted to finally take some _ real _ action after all the months he'd spent moping, he had to. If he didn't want to be stuck with Dean for the rest of his life, trying to run the farm alone, under countless fae curses and pretending like everything was completely normal, when Mcjones knew so _ deeply _ within himself that _ no, _ things would _ never _be normal again; he didn't have a choice.

He just had to hope that Dean was really a different kind of fae, one that wouldn't rip him away from his brother as soon as he got him back. Still, he held Austin's well-being over his own. And whatever tortures laid in the fae realm, he'd probably prefer them over the utterly dismal _ numbness _ that living in this house alone had consumed him with. If he never had to lay on that couch again, stricken by insomnia and staring up at the ceiling, struggling with the simple task of breathing and wondering why he was still crying when he could have been doing something productive, _ should _have pulled himself together by then; really, he'd take that as a blessing, no matter what the alternative was. 

"... I'll go look. You… stay out here," Mcjones ordered with all the authority of a mouse, rising to his feet despite all the shaking that just wouldn't stop. Dean nodded in return, relaxing fully again and setting his sights on the morning sky, leaving Mcjones to it.

A sudden dizziness came upon him from the first step he took towards the door. A wave of second thoughts and general panic crashed over him, but while loud and disorienting, it wasn't enough to stop him. He couldn't think of anything that would be. 

… God, he was really doing this, wasn't he?

He swallowed, pushing down all of those fears and protests as best as he could; which wasn't particularly well, sharing the nature of waves as they did, but he had to try. It was a simple task, in theory. All he had to do was find _ something, _and then he'd let all the repercussions consume him later.

Weaseling through the space the already ajar door had left for him and gently pushing it closed behind him, Mcjones already had a destination in mind. Or a small, subconscious, masochistic part of him did, because every other part of him screamed to turn around, panic swelling yet again. But there was nothing Mcjones could do, picked up by a tide much stronger than his own. 

His hand landed on the doorknob and he hesitated. Cold metal against his palm, it shocked him out of his daze for a moment. _ Oh God, why was he doing this _was a thought that came up quite often, really just in general. But more so related to his task, much more personal and powerful than his own general internal screaming could be, was another question.

How long had it been since he'd been in this room? 

He'd been avoiding it like his life depended on it; _ God, _ didn't it? He knew logically that he had entered at least a couple times in the past few months, he needed to grab his blankets and his books and a couple other… distractions, to busy himself with. His sewing kit, he'd patched up a couple good jackets in this time, some candles to create the illusion that he was relaxing and also to wave his hand over the flame with, just in the pursuit of feeling something. His pocket knife, curating the bunch of crudely sharpened sticks dumped on the table by the couch; really, what kind of state does a man have to be in to actually _ enjoy _ whittling? His kit of bandages, for when he inevitably nicked his fingertips with the knife. He kept the kit in that room for convenience, he supposed. His pile of papers detailing spells, his miscellaneous gems that apparently were meant to do _ something,_ and the work in progress wand that had done him absolutely no good at all. Quite a few examples, and so he was sure he hadn't been neglecting the room entirely, but…

All of those trips inside were very intentionally quick, blocked out of his mind as soon as he stepped back outside. And never, not even once, had he spared more than a glance out of his peripheral vision at Austin's side of the room. Austin's bed, Austin's cluttered mess of things, Austin's everything. Never, for fear that just _ looking _at it would make him fall apart again. 

No point in worrying over it now; no turning back. His hands were shaking as he turned the doorknob, his heart beating in his chest like the wings of a hummingbird, but he had already resigned himself to this. _ Just be quick. _

… No, Mcjones had no idea how he could even think that to himself in complete seriousness. Get out of here quick? He'd consider himself lucky to get out of here _ alive. _ From the moment he laid eyes on the room again, a strange, _ painful _dullness nestled into his chest, raising the question of if he was about to have a heart attack. Immediately, it all began to register with him; the slightly lower ceiling, the curtains drawn forcing the light to trickle in differently, almost otherworldly. The two beds on opposite sides of the room; one unmade, the other stripped for almost all but its sheets. And already, the trinkets on Austin's nightstand, the clutter beneath his bed and tossed onto the shelf, the memories that bore into Mcjones' consciousness yet again like desperate claws trying to get free; he was pulled towards them like a magnet, like lemmings to the sea.

Actually, he did need to be quick with this, even if it was grabbing indiscriminately at the shelves and shoving it into Dean's hands completely unthinkingly; because just looking at this place, he felt like he was going to pass out.

And Austin wouldn't want to come home to his lifeless body, dead by the stress and heartbreak, now would he? Maybe the fae would do him a favor though, and whisk his body away to somewhere a little less inconvenient.

He took a deep breath, the exhale weak and shuddering, like a sail in the middle of a storm. And he pressed onwards, although he couldn’t say he knew where he was going, or how exactly he was going to get out. 

Forcing one foot in front of the other, he ended up by Austin’s nightstand, cautiously running his fingers over the edge of the wood. The nostalgia was dizzying, as if physically hitting him over the head with the implications, with guilt, with saudade. He’d stood in this exact position before, he was sure of it; standing over Austin, trying to work up the nerve to wake him up, or helping him find something he’d lost, right in plain sight. Gifts he’d left for him, candy and packets of seeds, any of the little things Mcjones would see in the marketplace and assume that he’d like. And now, his fingertips were covered in dust.

How long had it been, again? 

He brushed off the dust absentmindedly, as he did with that entire train of thought. He reminded himself, _ he just needed something, _and then he’d let Dean do all the work of finding him, bringing back his answers. Making everything alright again, if only for a moment before he took Mcjones with him.

A spark flickered, somewhere deep in the back of his mind that barely registered; positing the question of _ why, exactly _ was he so afraid to just _ be _ in Austin’s room? Austin would come home, he was sure of it, so… what was there to worry about? Was it the answer itself that scared him? Why was it that he missed him so _ badly, _like the world had ended without him, when…

The question collapsed back into the recesses of Mcjones’ mind, failing to breach the surface for more than a millisecond. It didn’t matter in that moment. It was a simple quest, for _ something, anything, _and Dean was waiting. He wouldn’t want to push his luck with Dean any further than he already h-

“Ooh, this is nice,” Dean suddenly broke the silence, sending Mcjones practically jumping out of his skin. He whipped around to find Dean crouched by his own side of the room, the shelf where Mcjones kept his magicky... things, hardly passable as a collection or anything more worthwhile than that. Immediately, Mcjones noticed that he had already gotten his grubby little hands on _ something, _but he couldn’t see quite what it was.

“Uh- I told you to stay out- out there,” Mcjones responded, still struggling to summon the confidence needed to interact with Dean and not be utterly walked all over. He knew, he’d probably never have it; and so he braced himself.

“You did,” Dean replied, standing up to face Mcjones, turning on his heel as his wings fluttered behind him, seeming to cause some cold breeze that shocked Mcjones back to his senses. But more so than to do that, but to paint this picture of… what would it be, _ innocence? _ Or maybe _ harmlessness, _ that Dean was almost _ painfully _ good at, but Mcjones refused to let it fool him. The fae were masters of glamour after all, and there was this… look in Dean’s eyes, something light and sparkling like a flurry of snow; when he smiled, when he sat with Mcjones completely relaxed and at peace, that was a _ dead giveaway _ to his intentions. Dean was trying to charm him, Mcjones was sure, and he wouldn’t let it work. 

And yet, after all that courageous promise and resolve, it still took Mcjones much too long to figure out Dean was holding his wand. “_But, _it seemed like you were taking a while, and I didn’t want you running off or getting lost, so I thought I’d check on you.”

… _ God, _ how long had it been, actually? How long had he spent just _ staring _ at Austin’s bedside without actually thinking about anything? It couldn’t have been _ that _long, right? Dean was playing with him, tricking him into believing something untrue, yet again. As fae often did, and he was warned of the way they could manipulate time as well. There was no reason at all for Mcjones to run off, as scared as he could admit to being, and the idea of him getting lost was just absurd.

… But maybe not as absurd as he would like to think it was, if he really had spent so much time in here. 

He dismissed the thought, standing up a little straighter, trying to wring out any last drops of bravery within himself. “Well, I’m… fine. No reason for that.”

“This is a lovely wand. It is your wand, right?” Dean asked, completely ignoring Mcjones’ attempt at ordering him back outside and going back to analyzing the wand, turning it over in his hands. 

“Uh… Yes,” Mcjones confirmed, feeling another pang in his chest that didn’t bode well for his survival. Embarrassment, would it be? Or maybe just fear in general, because Dean had brought him quite a lot of that. Purely by the nature of being a fae, it was certain that Dean knew more about magic stuff than he did, and his wand was rather… homemade. A completely regular stick he’d pulled from his- _ their _firewood stash, not even whittled; wrapped up in copper wire and topped with an amethyst crystal. Not the most fancy, nor the most structurally sound, and for all Mcjones knew, probably not even functional. 

“I like it,” Dean purred, seeming an awful lot like he was just flattering Mcjones for the hell of it. “The amethyst is a good choice. Suits you.”

Literally, the first crystal he saw in the market that looked like it would fit. 

“Oh… Th- You are most... kind,” Mcjones murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Dean hummed appreciatively, continuing to muse over the wand, as if searching for some deeper intention or purpose that almost certainly wasn’t there. 

“Where’s your core, though?” Dean asked, a rather… _ genuine _seeming question, and Mcjones looked up to find Dean’s eyes burning right through him. Again, that pang, like being stabbed through the chest with a needle. 

“... What?”

“Your core,” Dean repeated, taking a couple steps closer, holding up the wand. “It’s the basics of a focus, Hargrave, don’t you…?”

The confusion etched onto every one of Mcjones’ features must have gotten the point across to Dean; being _ no, he doesn’t. _

“Who… Wh- Okay. I was going to ask if you’ve had any luck with this thing, but I’m guessing not.”

Mcjones shook his head. A bit rude of Dean, which was… interesting, for a fae, but he was certainly right. And if not for Mcjones’ own semi-commitment to politeness, he probably would have passed on whatever lecture Dean was about to give him. He couldn’t help but feel like if Dean hadn’t barged in, he could have already found his _ soul-thing _for Dean and have sent him on his way. 

“Yeah. Alright, so- There are three basic components to a wand, right? The base, the thing the wand is made of, the fulcrum, the thing that channels the magic, and the core, which makes it personal and binds it to the user. So for you, the base is the stick, which works just fine, and the amethyst is a _ great _fulcrum; but unless you’re doubling the amethyst as the core, you’re gonna need to add something if you want this to work,” Dean explained gesturing quite a bit with the wand, and the flimsiness of it made Mcjones more than a little worried. “... Seriously, did no one ever tell you that?”

“... Nobody told me anything, I just thought I’d… try it out,” Mcjones sheepishly explained, folding his arms. This whole interaction could probably file under some curse or hex, couldn’t it? Was Dean cursing him with Mcjones’ own wand? Was that even possible? Of course, given his ignorance, Mcjones wouldn’t know. 

“Ah, I see,” Dean nodded, continuing to run his fingers over the copper wire like it was some kind of toy. “But hey, you’ve got me around now, and I know this stuff! I'd be an awful fae if I didn't, so while I'm here, might as well help you out."

That didn’t comfort Mcjones in the slightest. The way Dean said Mcjones _ had him around now, _ like his addition was of any particular benefit to Mcjones, like he was some kind of permanent fixture; as if Dean was truly inclined to help him out of the sheer goodness of his heart, pure altruism, and certainly not after Mcjones’ soul or anything like that. Amid all of those _ admittedly, maybe a little bit paranoid _thoughts, Dean stepped even closer, seeming weightless in the way he moved, still grinning, eyes still sparkling-

… And _ God almighty, _ maybe Mcjones was a little slow for not realizing it before, but he didn’t realize until Dean was mere inches away from him just how much taller he was than Mcjones. Not any taller than Austin, sure, but still, Mcjones was already decently terrified of him. And that simple fact, even paired with the innocent, bubbly, and of course inherently fae-like demeanor Dean wore, was _ intimidating, _ to put it lightly. Weren’t fae supposed to be… smaller, or something? Or was he thinking of pixies?

Point is, he was terrified, and it was a struggle to be subtle with it. 

Dean looked over Austin’s nightstand, which at least gave Mcjones a break from Dean’s eyes boring into his soul, but _ still, _ the proximity of it all was nerve wracking. He didn’t want Dean this close to Austin’s things, the things that could potentially grant him power over Austin, or what could be no more than a target for Dean to destroy, wearing Mcjones down more every day. And Mcjones still didn’t want Dean this close to _ him, _leaving nowhere near enough room for him to breathe. There never really was, but…

Well, he’d say he’d do anything for a little more distance put between them, but that wouldn’t really be true. This was what he signed up for when he asked for a favor. Dean was just some sort of oxygen-sucking black hole, it would seem, and Mcjones could only rely on himself if he wanted to survive it. 

“Hey, we can do two things at once here, right?” Dean called out, still speaking with the volume of someone a little further across the room. “Your… _ thing _of choice for me, and then something for your wand. Really, anything goes for the wand, as long as it’s emotionally significant and you can get it to fit on the base, obviously. I’ve seen rings, childhood toys, old pet collars, even rocks from someone’s childhood, or anything like that- Aesthetics are nice, sure, but when it comes to functionality, it doesn’t really matter…”

Dean took a couple steps back as he continued on his tangent, _ thank God, _ and Mcjones figured he should start _ actually _looking if he wanted to get out of here. 

Those aches in his chest flared up again, one right after the other, as Mcjones looked over Austin’s nightstand. Messy stacks of copper and silver coins, certainly not the best place to keep them, but making it clear that he was saving up for _ something; _ some books Mcjones assumed someone had lent him, what looked like romance novels, various packets of seeds he hadn’t yet bothered to organize, various _ kind of _cool looking rocks, two empty mugs, and even a couple stray shards of glass. That was dangerous, but Mcjones knew exactly what they were from; what must have been April or so, Austin had gotten completely turned around in his sleep, and upon trying to wake up, roundhouse kicked his lamp to hell and back. He’d need to actually clean that up when Austin came back, but for now…

Mcjones sighed, setting his sights a little lower, opening the drawer beneath.

And _ oh, _ he would have thought Dean was behind it, the way the breath was just _ ripped _right out of him. 

The drawer was filled to the brim with papers. Envelopes, some pristine, most torn open; a section of what _ looked _ like blank papers at least, but the rest were letters, the ink a bit sloppy, which Mcjones always criticized Austin for, but utterly wrought with _ passion. _

And sheer memory seized him, as he reached into the drawer and rifled through them idly, knowing that all of them could give him what he needed indiscriminately; he saw himself back on the porch in the dead of night, reading Austin’s letters and writing back by the faintest candlelight, running through town with barely enough time to make it to the courier and praying so _ desperately _ to not get caught. Pangs in his chest not unlike the ones he was having now, as Austin described the stifled, seemingly perpetually rainy town their mother had brought him to- how _ badly _he missed him, how much he wanted to come home.

Oh, Mcjones remembered the morning Austin came home so _ vividly. _ The early morning light, the air somewhat damp, as if Austin had brought the rains with him; those fancier city clothes, just how much _ taller _Austin had gotten in only five years, the then unspoken promise that once Mcjones had him in his arms, he wasn't going anywhere. Kids once, adults now. An ill father, a negligent, distant mother, and a farm that desperately needed some better care.

The start of all this. When Austin came home, they'd finally be able to start again.

Mcjones pulled out a pair of the torn envelopes, the letters he had written to Austin inside. "Would something like these work…?"

Mcjones really wasn't listening to Dean's continued rambling about wand logistics, but wherever he was, he cut himself off right away. Dean's eyes widened as he looked over the envelopes, growing rounder, a look that Mcjones wouldn't be all that surprised by if his eyes started actually, _ literally _ sparkling. Mcjones didn't think he liked how… _ happy, _Dean was about this specific proposal, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

"Oh- Letters, yes, those are perfect!" Dean replied, as if understanding their significance from the mere _ aura _ of them, without reading a single word tucked within the envelopes. "Well, if you're comfortable using them, that is. But yes, that would absolutely work."

Mcjones looked over the envelopes again, taking some time to really appreciate the details; the voracity with which the envelopes were torn open, the seemingly hasty and somewhat uneven way the letters were folded to fit back in, despite how meticulously Mcjones had folded them in the first place; and the raindrops on several of the envelopes that left scars, but almost never reaching the letters themselves.

These were… _ so _ important to Austin. Maybe he was a little sloppy with his care of them, as he was with the letters he wrote to Mcjones, but it was _ so earth shatteringly _clear just how much they meant to him. Why else would he keep them here, in his nightstand, always close to him, always safe? 

Wherever he was now, surely he missed them. 

Mcjones tucked the letters back into the drawer, organizing them as best as he could before closing it gently. "I should probably use the letters he wrote me instead, actually, but… Yeah. This'll do."

Mcjones tried not to look at Dean as he turned on his heel towards his own side of the room, but his grin was practically blinding. Cheshire, fluorescent, brilliant; and if Mcjones hadn't known any better, he'd think it was genuine. 

He kept the letters Austin sent him in a box near the top of his shelf; and he hadn't looked inside it in quite a while. Having Austin was enough, he didn't really need the memory of how much he had missed him when he was a child, boarded up in this same farmhouse. Austin always saw more value in those sentimental things, he supposed; Mcjones figured it was never for him. 

But the parallels were striking, suddenly; he was still a child, isolated and locked inside, doing anything to just pass the time. Waiting on letters that Mcjones _ knew _ weren't coming this time. And it wasn't a pang that struck his chest that time, not quite; it was a _ fire. _

The letters were ordered from oldest to newest, the last letter Austin sent to him before he came home at the very top. And while it didn't matter which ones Mcjones chose for this purpose, they could all serve perfectly well, he decided that the last letter he received should be best for his wand. And the second to last for Dean, sure. 

Mcjones turned back around to find Dean having calmed it down quite a bit, still smiling, but much softer. Gentle, even, that even despite all of his suspicions about Dean soothed his racing heart somewhat. Maybe he wasn't actively scheming or cursing him anymore…?

"Alright, so… This one for the wand," Mcjones declared, holding the one envelope between his fingers. "And this one for you."

Dean took the envelope from Mcjones' hand, holding it closed with his thumb. "Great. Are you… sure about this, though? Using these things to track people, especially as… both potent and fragile as this, it can get pretty…"

Mcjones wasn't sure exactly what Dean was trying to mimic with his hands, but something… vaguely explosive.

"Just saying, there's a pretty high chance I won't be able to get this back to you. But if you're sure-"

"I'm sure," Mcjones interrupted, trying his hardest to be brave and look at Dean directly. "... As long as it gets him back."

… That had to be a new record for him, quickest total destruction of courage in front of a fae.

But Dean didn't do much else, didn't try to trick or torture him any further. He simply nodded, bright eyes crinkling as he smiled, wings slowly starting up behind him as the temperature in the room began to dip. 

"Perfect. That will be all, then. Good luck with your wand, and I'm happy to have helped," Dean concluded, handing Mcjones' wand back to him, the sound of fluttering echoing all throughout the room. He stepped around and behind Mcjones, and in the single moment that Mcjones couldn't see him, the winter breeze brushed by, and he was gone. 

Likely too late, and to nothing but emptiness by the time the words came to pass, Mcjones murmured _ you are most kind. _

It wasn't until much later that day, after he finally made it out of that room, had laid on the couch for a couple hours, had gotten himself some food and finally cleared his mind enough to try; he took his wand and Austin's letter, taking a pair of pliers, undoing and redoing the copper wiring with the letter secured beneath it. Mcjones was actually a bit more proud of it that time around; he wasn't so worried about the amethyst falling off, at least. 

And with his wand, a couple candles, and some verses from a shred of paper he quickly grabbed from their room; he attempted something of a protection ritual. He had no doubt that he was doing it all wrong, almost certainly pronouncing most, if not all of the words incorrectly, but… it felt like something actually _ happened. _

A feeling in his chest, not of pain or of fire, but merely of a _ twang, _ like the string of a bow. It wasn't entirely comfortable, even somewhat underwhelming, maybe there was supposed to be something _ more; _but it was something, and that was more than Mcjones could say for any other ritual he had performed.

And the mere presence of _ something _ was something Mcjones had learned to appreciate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 1 complete aaa,,, hope it wasn't,, too long and incoherent or anything dfhgds,, also the wand stuff is based off tumblr user normal-horoscopes posts, check them out they are epic. that post, + bronzes thing, + my desire to just write someone in the shirts from loonas butterfly era are the holy trinity of motivation for this fic. so yeah babey!


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go yall,,,,

It had only been a day before Mcjones was visited by Dean yet again. Another early morning, spent out on the porch, clutching a mug of tea and wrapped in a warm fur coat that was a little too heavy, even for late October. Naturally, Dean would join him on the steps at that point, Mcjones wasn’t particularly surprised, or even upset.

But there was a strange sort of… _ urgency, _ to the winds that followed Dean around then, somewhat sharper, _ biting. _He didn’t speak right away, focusing on the fields before them, letting out a quiet sigh as if finding his bearings. His wings continued to shiver, as if anxious, his hands clasped firmly in his lap.

That… certainly didn’t instill Mcjones with the most confidence. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, rather it was genuine or not, what implications and intentions it held; but it was worrying, to say the least. 

“... Good morning,” Mcjones said, breaking the silence, finding himself drawn to Dean’s every move. This had to be some test, or a trick, or something. Some different kind of glamour, surely. This was just… cruel. Cruel and weird, and Mcjones hated it. Dean still wouldn’t look at him, and Mcjones soon realized that it wasn’t just his wings that were _ shivering. _ It was as if he was freezing, and Mcjones almost wanted to offer him his coat; but it was obvious from the very beginning that Dean was a member of the winter court. Any other fae, of any season, most likely wouldn’t be acting like this. None of this made _ any _ sense. 

“... To you as well,” Dean replied after a long pause, breathing deeply, his eyes fixed on the sunrise. Mcjones couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this was genuine, that something was actually wrong, that Dean was mentally preparing himself for whatever news he had to bring; but of course, Mcjones wouldn’t put it past a fae to fake such a thing. He simply didn’t know, and it was a painfully familiar thing; not knowing. 

“... What are you acting all nervous for?” Mcjones asked, yet again teetering on the edge of politeness, but what good would all that worrying have done if he didn’t ask about it? 

“It’s… How do I put this…” Dean sighed, briefly glancing over at Mcjones, looking him up and down with an expression like that of a sad puppy, before focusing back on the field before them. “There’s… There’s something I need to show you.”

Oh _ no. _ Red flags, right away. 

"What? I- No, wait-" Mcjones stammered, scooting away from Dean at the slightest implication that he was going to try and touch him. "You're not taking me _ anywhere, _not before you tell me where we're going."

"It's not far from here," Dean replied, and Mcjones couldn't help but notice that the sparkle in his eyes, whatever that was meant to be, was completely absent.

"Wh- Okay, not far from here as in within the mile? Or as in, still in the same realm?"

"Both of those are true," Dean muttered, the slightest tug at his lips _ implying _he was trying to smile, but… whatever it was, it just didn't work. It didn't really look as if Dean was intentionally pushing that smile down, hiding his true, deceitful happiness, but Mcjones still wasn't ready to trust him. 

If he did, if he took Dean's signs of distress at face value, he'd probably be halfway through a panic attack by now.

"Well, okay," Mcjones huffed, hands up as if to shield himself, watching closely for Dean's every move. "_Tell _me where we're going, then."

"I don't think you'd believe me if I just told you," Dean said, staring at the wooden steps beneath him, a noticeable lack of… really, any emotion in his voice. Not overblown misery, not concealed glee, not even really seeming nervous anymore; just emptiness, worryingly quiet.

"What- Well, try me, at least."

"It's- Okay, we're- We're staying in this realm, of course, and it's not far at all from here, probably less than half a mile… We could walk, I suppose-"

"Then let's walk. I'm more comfortable with that than with you, just, _ whooshing _ me away."

"_But, _it would be so much faster to just bring you there, Hargrave, I- Please. I'd like this to be as quick as possible, it's-"

"Why? What are you talking about?" Mcjones interjected, more anger than confusion or gnawing anxiety by then, although that's certainly not to say those feelings weren't there. He wasn't quite aware of it in the moment, but he was trembling as well, like the surface of a pond in a rainstorm. 

"No physical harm will come to you, I'll bring you right back here when we're done, I promise. You have my word. But it's better this way, I mean it."

"Physical?" Mcjones repeated, the word tasting like gunmetal on his tongue, having no idea what Dean was actually promising by that. What would the counterpart to that be, emotional…?

"I- Yes, you'll be safe, I promise. Just- It's your brother, alright?" 

The phrase hit Mcjones like the back of a shotgun to the brain stem, leaving him… almost numb, apart from the fact that he thought his nose might be bleeding. The one big reveal, that all this was about Austin, was really apropos of nothing. Of _ course _ it was, what else would it be about? But the real implications of that, what Dean's whole demeanor meant in that context, what would be the answers he was searching for all this time, was kept just barely out of his reach. Like the feeling of a nosebleed coming on, but completely dry when he checked for it, like the taste of iron on his tongue but the lack of any real _ sense _to it. None of this made sense. He couldn't make sense of it. 

"... What about him?" Mcjones asked, intending for a sharper edge to his words like the iron in his mouth, but no emotion other than desperation came through in his voice. The whirlwind of feelings this enigma had brought him picked up and dropped within seconds, leaving him weak and confused amongst all the rubble, left only with his fear and the vague knowledge that there was too much blood, somewhere it shouldn't have been. His head, his throat, his lungs, or elsewhere; it was like he could see the answer, bright and blinding in front of him, but he just couldn't _ grasp _it.

Dean stood up, stepping off the porch and turning around, extending a hand… presumably, for Mcjones. With the sun to his back, it was a little harder to tell, but every sign pointed to it being an invitation. And a good majority of the signs also pointed to Dean being… somehow, _ scared. _ He was still shaking, Mcjones could see it in his wings, illuminated by the sun. And just subtly enough that Mcjones might as well have imagined it, he saw Dean's lips move. It must have been quiet enough to be picked up by the early morning breeze and doomed to never reach Mcjones' ears, but he could still see it as it was spoken, the word etched into Dean's every feature; _ "please." _

Mcjones wasn’t sure exactly what it was that got him up, propelling him forward, his heart bunny kicking against his ribcage; maybe empathy for whatever had happened to Dean, probably a good deal of misplaced trust due to his words of reassurance. He was still half convinced that Dean was going to twist all this around and hurt him somehow, but…

Maybe, yet again, it was the lack of any other choice. 

He felt somewhat dizzy yet again as he approached Dean, frigid winds almost blowing him back, his head spinning with the subconscious realization he’d been in the middle of all this time, of just how _ desperate _he was. Still, even as he was sure that he was caught in Dean’s lure and unable to escape, the look on Dean’s face was still gentle, eyes wide and apologetic. 

… He’d learned by that point that he wouldn’t find any answers there, just staring at Dean’s face and analyzing his every move; only more questions. Questions that were… frightening, and that he didn’t have the mental capacity for yet. Like why it was so easy to simply stare…

Bracing himself, Mcjones clasped Dean’s hand in his own.

It didn’t seem like anything happened at first; except for a slight chill rolling past, the sound of fluttering somewhere both far away and deep within, and the sensation of being spun around without actually moving at all. 

Only, they did move. When Mcjones looked up, they were somewhere entirely different.

Mcjones recognized it almost immediately. Dean didn't lie, they were still certainly within the mile, and the area was very distinctly _ home. _The early morning light was still the same, the sun in the exact same place, surrounded by maple trees and wildflowers preparing for the winter. The same maple leaves that would crunch beneath his boots on his way home, the same wildflowers Austin would pick and leave in bundles around the house; this was the very same forest he lived near. Technically, the same one they were already in.

But Mcjones couldn't say he recognized this area in particular, figuring it must have been pretty far off the trail. He pulled his hand away from Dean's, taking a couple steps back, trying to figure out just _ where _ they were before he even tried to tackle _ why _he was brought here. There were no pathways or landmarks, no sign of anyone having been here before, not even any particularly distinctive trees or patches of flora-

"Woah, _ ohmystars- _ Hargrave!"

Suddenly, Mcjones found himself in Dean’s arms; one around his waist, the other gripped tightly around his wrist, the only thing keeping him from falling backwards. 

It took Mcjones a second to process it. All the worry that was still almost _ painfully _ visible on Dean’s face, his eyes now wide and panicked, the sheer _ closeness _of their faces. Dean’s hold on him, the angle he was being held at, almost as if this was some sort of dance. 

The slightest glance over Mcjones’ shoulder, revealing the chasm he had nearly fallen into, the sound of the creek running through it now ringing deafeningly loud in his ears.

… Well, that was certainly distinctive. How had he missed that?

His eyes met Dean’s again. Another thing that was much too loud, the sound of Dean’s breathing, harsh and adrenaline filled, _ closer _than Mcjones could say he ever wanted to be, but… 

In that moment, he couldn’t be sure what he wanted at all. Nothing was explicitly positive or negative about it, but not neutral either, and it didn’t make sense to him. He was simply wrapped up in it, in the panic and confusion, to the point where he had no idea exactly how long they held that pose.

Dean seemed similarly wrapped up, but he snapped out of it soon enough, yanking Mcjones back from the edge and giving him some personal space back immediately after, gingerly adjusting his sleeve. 

“Be careful,” Dean rasped, slowly gathering his composure back, the uproar of breath fading back to normal. Another feeling arose in Mcjones’ chest, not of pain or of anything particularly physical, but of something dense, out of place. 

“... Pardon me,” Mcjones muttered with the hint of a chuckle, but the words felt similarly heavy, ambiguously _ wrong. _

“I- Oh, no, pardon _ me, _ I should have warned you,” Dean replied, succeeding in the tone that Mcjones had attempted to use, with an apologetic chuckle and a smile that Mcjones didn’t find himself doubting, for whatever reason. “Are you okay?”

Mcjones nodded, but even the words as simple as _ “yes, I am,” _ were much too heavy to make it to his lips. Dean sighed, either out of relief or just plain happiness, the worry in his eyes replaced with a light that reminded Mcjones of the sparkle of sunlight on fresh snow, off icicles or the surface of a lake. Maybe it was due to the danger he was just in, that he had been so courageously rescued from, that he wasn’t so frightened by and adverse to the very concept of Dean looking like anything other than murderous. A part of himself still tried to warn him that what Dean portrayed wasn’t true, that he was falling for his glamour and was sure to be hurt by it; but it was just as heavy as the rest of Mcjones’ thoughts, and ended up sinking into silence.

Mcjones was honestly clueless as to what he was feeling; but somehow, he felt as if that moment was too short. Just as quickly as it came, the smile dropped from Dean's face, setting his sights behind Mcjones and whispering to himself, _ "right." _

Dean vaguely gestured towards the creek, and Mcjones turned around, looking over it. He recognized it now, it was the same creek that flowed all the way past the path that led to the village, although he still couldn't pinpoint for sure just how far away they were from home. This place seemed awfully familiar, but Mcjones supposed the whole forest did. And while he had no memory of this particular area's _ precariousness, _ a rather sizable and _ rocky _ six foot drop towards the stream, he still couldn't help the feeling of _ deja vu. _

Orange maple trees and familiar terrain would certainly do the trick. The creek itself as well, the slow trickling and bubbling of it, the gentle and familiar current, the stones slowly eroded over years and years-

Something out of place caught his eye. On the opposite side of the valley, under a bit more of an overhang, there was… black and blue. Black unlike the shadow of the chasm or any of the rocks, blue unlike that of the creek, but of the sky, just before the evening. Of _ denim. _

Suddenly, the sky was falling.

Pink, almost blending in with the warm colored stones, but the entirely wrong texture, the entirely wrong place. It was stained with dirt and what Mcjones chose to believe was old mud, clearly having been picked at by… _ things. _ Brown, not of the rocks but of _ hair, _ obscuring his face and having lost all of its shine. What must have once been white rose petals having long since wilted, shriveled and brown and decayed and _ dead, _dead like-

_ No, _no. No. It doesn't make sense.

Pale skin, seeming darker near the bottom. Settled blood, a concept that Mcjones might have heard of once, but it just wasn't _ logical _ for this situation. He refused to seriously consider it, this was all a _ fucking _ joke, wasn't it? His arms, pale yet bruised, not just scratched anymore but _ ripped open. _ Blood that had long since gone stale, long since stopped _ flowing _and leaving its trail to the ground, the water that could have washed it away just barely out of reach-

Mcjones' head _ throbbed, _ throwing him off his entire train of thought, which must have crashed him right into the side of a mountain. He almost lost his balance for a second, drawing in a sharp breath as the vertigo hit like an avalanche. He couldn't look at Dean, couldn't even try. Couldn't process what he was seeing either. Couldn't process the simple fact that what he was seeing wasn't just some weird shaped rock, despite its total and eerie stillness, or some sleep deprived hallucination, although he was certainly feeling the fatigue now. He felt ready to faint, truly, to fall right into this chasm and _ share the same fate. _

But it wasn't fate, was it? It couldn't be. This wasn't fated, no God or any gods at all would allow this, because this was _ cruel. _ It couldn't be fate, because the _ thing _in front of him wasn't a body, wasn't someone he recognized, but some technicolor whirl that just so happened to be lying completely still. 

There was a voice, pressed all the way into the back of his mind, anxiously contributing the fact that his lungs hurt. That he couldn't _ breathe._ But he couldn't focus on that either, he couldn't figure out _ anything. _ He couldn't process, he couldn't handle it, he could barely remain conscious, and all he could do was feel the weight of absolutely _ everything _ crashing down on him. Of futures he would idly daydream about, of promises he made to himself for when Austin came home, of the memories he held so dear and close to his chest, of children waiting impatiently until they could be free and of those very same children, in the bodies of adults, liberated and finally receiving the luxury of _ living. _ All of those things, crushed, under boulders and rock slides and avalanches, under creek water clouded with silt and fallen skies and searchlights abandoned on the ground. He was suffocating, choking but with no idea what _ on, _ so bewildered and overwhelmed that he couldn't even find it in himself to try and _ survive. _

Just out of his field of vision, just outside the realm of what Mcjones could mentally comprehend in that moment, which really wasn't very much; Dean turned towards him, stepping ever so slightly closer.

"My… deepest apologies," Dean mumbled, low and breathy, but Mcjones barely heard him. "I… I didn't think- Or know, that…"

His voice simply dropped into silence after that, and Mcjones didn't pay much mind to it. He was still working on what he was seeing, what this meant, putting the shards of this ancient vase back together in order to gather some meaning from it and cutting open his fingertips every single time he handled a piece.

Every word stung. _ Austin _ didn't fit. Brother, missing, missed, _ him, _ none of the words made sense, just getting all tangled up in each other. Body, dead, _ gone, _tore up his fingers and sliced open his palms. He wanted to scream, but his throat was felt raw, cut open, flowing like another river and filling the valley. 

He was vaguely aware of the fact that Dean was still next to him, standing silently and just as unsure what to make of this as Mcjones. This whole thing was frightening and upsetting, _ obviously, _ but he didn't even want to begin on the implications of Dean's behavior now. But he was pretty sure that this wasn't a trick. He wanted it to be, he _ really _did, but...

Something clicked, like the breaking of a lock, compelling him to take in a well needed breath, and he reached for Dean's hand. For comfort, or merely to keep himself from throwing himself into the creek, but out of desperation. He knew he was desperate, survival instinct _ finally _kicking in, because it felt as if he was starting to understand. As if he was chained to the bottom of the chasm as the creek rose into a river, rising higher and higher, until it had submerged him, and he had no choice but to take in the information surrounding him. 

This was… actually, it. This was the end. This was the answer he had been looking for, and he had it, and this was it. 

Austin had been here all this time. Within the mile, hardly lost, and this death seemed… natural. Mcjones wouldn't have been surprised if all _ this _ was an accident. Maybe he fell, twisted something, couldn't get out, got bullied by some foxes or whatever had roughed him up, and simply stayed there. Austin didn't leave, wasn't whisked away. The final solution was that he was _ gone, _a phrase that hung heavy and felt incomplete, but it was the simplest truth. 

That one, simple word, _ gone. _ It spread and multiplied and twisted up around him, and he was drowning in it. _ Gone. _ He knew the word on a dictionary level, but the meaning in this context was utterly incomprehensible. He was gone, likely by complete accident, and that should have been that, but it just… didn't fit. Mcjones supposed he had made his own picture of what had happened to Austin, carefully crafting it all these months, and none of these pieces fit in the slightest. Any claims of blame, any war cries that this _ had _to be his fault, any further explanations or denials were swept up and suffocated all the same, beaten into an incomprehensible emotional pulp. All he could do was clutch Dean's hand, not caring how tightly he squeezed it, and try to keep from falling in. 

The touch seemed to shock Dean out of whatever catatonic trance he was in, blinking quickly and finally breaking his silence. 

"I… Yeah, um," Dean stammered, squeezing Mcjones' hand back while anxiously tapping his thigh with his other. "I don't- My apologies, I probably shouldn't have brought you here, I- This is a lot, and-"

Mcjones was having trouble focusing on Dean's words. The tone came through alright, apologetic regret, but none of the words themselves registered, piling up at his feet instead. Even with the one true answer before him in the creek, in the form of a body, there were still another thousand little answers that he didn't understand, all the implications and emotional resolutions and the question of what he was meant to do next. And clearly, none of them could be found here.

He looked somewhere else instead. His gaze slid up to Dean's face, reminding himself of the hand around his own, _ seeing _ instead of trying to presume all of the sympathy he held. If it was genuine, he couldn't say he really knew, but… he needed it to be. There was no protecting himself here, he was already broken down and _ suffering, _and…

He wondered what stage of grief this was. Maybe he was still working on understanding the fact that Austin was gone in the first place, but he was _ kind of _ sure he was past denial. Bargaining, he'd already done his fair share of that, and he couldn't see himself begging for anything like that again. Anger… he didn't feel all that mad. It was an accident, which he was still working on processing as well, but he'd picked that up right away. Maybe he was horrified and there was always that nagging voice in his head that screamed _ this was all his fault, _ but he didn't think he _ really _blamed himself. Not yet, at least. And he didn't blame Dean either, if only because he physically couldn't, because of some reason he still didn't understand.

This had to be somewhere adjacent to depression, then. This feeling of being completely lost, helpless, drowning under every thought and every feeling, desperate to _ not be alone. _ Even if the person closest to him was someone he _ knew _ all along that he couldn't trust, a fae that almost certainly wanted something from him, the very being that brought him here; he still found himself needing that company. He didn't have enough willpower left to try and escape this, to run all the way home and head into the village for anyone else's help. He couldn't run from this anymore. 

...

Oh _ God, _a part of him always knew, hadn't it?

And the mere action of looking at Dean's face broke him down even further, split him down the middle and bled him dry. He felt himself crumbling, falling apart, like a rocky cliff tumbling into the sea. He drew in a strangled breath, and felt the destruction of everything he knew gather behind his eyes, knowing he was dealing his fate. 

All the times he laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling and failing to compose himself came right back to him. He was back there. _ This _was what he was so afraid of, all this time. He should have known this was what happened, what would have happened when he called upon Dean's help, what the grand finale of all this would be.

Mcjones didn't understand, but maybe Dean did. 

"Oh my stars, alright, hey-" Dean muttered, gently pulling Mcjones into a hug as the dams began to break. "It's alright. I got you."

The "it's alright" part wasn't true in the slightest, but somehow, it almost felt like it was. Dean's body was somewhat cold, but in a refreshing sort of way, a bit of sunlight still managing to break through the snowfall. His shirt was silky, more smooth than anything Mcjones could think of touching before, and although he felt a bit guilty for crying on it as he was, that feeling soon faded. With his hands on Dean's back, it was nice to fidget with, distracting him a bit from all the _ everything. _ There was a bump on his back just below his wings, Mcjones discovered, and it was the tiniest, most meaningless thing to get so distracted by, but _ God _ did it work. And up against Dean's chest, he wasn't actually sure if it was the beating of his wings or his heart, but whatever it was, it was comforting. Like the wings of a hummingbird, or the pitter-patter of rain on a tin roof, Mcjones found himself easily caught up in it, pulled out of one rushing river and submerged right away in another. But this one, at least, made him feel quite a bit better. Maybe he was floating.

"Okay, so, Hargrave?" Dean piped up after a long moment of just _ holding, _letting Mcjones let it all out. Mcjones couldn't quite find it in himself to audibly respond, but he shifted, trying to indicate that he was listening. "Again, my… deepest apologies, I had no… Well, I thought maybe, but… I don't know. Just- Pardon me."

Dean cut himself off, taking a breath, and Mcjones believed him. When he said he didn't know, didn't think this would happen, didn't _ want _this; there was comfort in that.

"Again, I really shouldn't have brought you here, my apologies, so… If you'd let me, I'll handle all the… burial… _ affairs, _alright? You shouldn't have to lug him all the way back, I'll- Promise I'll do it right."

That wasn't the most eloquent way of stating it, certainly vulnerable to the twisting of words; but still, Mcjones believed him. 

"And I'll bring you home, you can rest, alright? And anything else I can do to help, I'll do so gladly, you have my word."

Mcjones felt like that was a very un-faelike thing to say. Maybe ten minutes earlier, he would have been deeply disturbed by that, but now… 

He nodded against Dean's shoulder, choking out a couple more sobs, before he was yet again consumed by the sound of fluttering, winter winds-

And then glorious silence.

\---

Mcjones dragged his feet through the snow. All of his gear was heavy, the coat and his boots, the bright red scarf that trailed behind him and seemed to be trying to pull him back; but for whatever reason, he couldn't stop. He didn't know where he was going, but he was following the pack in front of him.

It was a group of people like him, bundled up and suffering onwards, but they didn't seem quite so burdened. Their faces, he could just barely make them out, drawing them out from his memory; he knew them, didn't he?

It almost hurt to try and remember, felt like it was only slowing him down more. There was one, to the right of the pack, taller than the rest, with crinkled eyes and a smile brighter than sunlight on snow. _ Who was he? _

Another, next to him, almost skipping through the snow, long ginger hair pulled out of her winter gear and falling to the middle of her back. _ Her? _He thought it was a her. He couldn't remember.

Towards the left, another tall one, more long hair; golden and braided, pulled over his shoulder. Definitely a he this time, he remembered his beard, and the smirk he perpetually wore, even in such conditions, the glint in his eye of half concealed fondness for the people he kept around. Mcjones knew he had seen him before, he was some kind of artist, but the details remained just out of reach. Just too far away for him to catch up with.

And there was one right in the middle, hanging back just enough as to not get lost, that Mcjones _ knew _he was supposed to know. Short brown hair, fluffy and dotted with snowflakes, a coat that was brighter than the rest, catching Mcjones' eye. Eden green, contrasting the same red scarf they all wore, and Mcjones felt like he was moments away from collapsing from the fatigue. He knew this person, didn't he? Why couldn't he-

The figure turned, glancing at Mcjones just over his shoulder, and Mcjones felt as if he'd taken an arrow through the chest. His jaw was sharp, his smile bright, a bundle of wildflowers tucked behind his ear.

He remembered him. His name was Jeff.

Austin was fond of him.

All of these people were Jeff's friends, by extension Austin's. The tall one on the right was of a bardic sort, Mcjones had seen him perform once or twice; he was smart, had an incredible gift of a voice. The other tall one was also an artist, Mcjones had seen his drawings; Austin kept a couple of them in his room, Mcjones recalled. And they sang together once, he was sure he had witnessed that. Ian, was his name, and he was a little more shy. But Luke, the other, was almost inhumanly encouraging. The woman was Reese, another artist, and a pair of hunters who went by Shane and Caddy, and the scholar who Mcjones borrowed so many books from, Satch-

But Austin himself was absent.

And as soon as the realization hit him, his body protested, legs giving out and nearly getting buried in the snow; but something caught him. 

His heart pounded, ice coursing through his veins. Slowly, his strength returned to him, but even looking directly at what had caught him, he couldn't put it all together. He could see perfectly clear, but his mind was clouded. There were hands around him, pulling him back on his feet and fixing his scarf, but he couldn't make out whose. Another red scarf, like his, a heavy coat. Mcjones assumed he was meant to know him too, but none of the pieces would fit together. Jet black hair, dotted by snowflakes as well, mirroring the night sky. Thick rimmed glasses, a smile sweet like honey, brown eyes deep enough to drown in-

_ That. _There was that deja vu. Where was it coming from? Why-

…

Oh.

_ Oh, _and Mcjones laughed.

And he woke up smiling, which was odd; his legs were still tired, releasing a lungful of freezing cold air as the memory of all that he had just witnessed slowly returned to him, but…

Oh, when was the last time he smiled like that? It was doomed not to last, of course, but… there was an inexplicable sort of relief to it, an _ acceptance, _ like the sense of peace on the edge of turning seasons. 

He pulled himself out of bed- _ oh, bed- _and left the room without much more than a glance to Austin’s side. He thought of making breakfast for himself, or maybe just some coffee, but he wasn’t hungry, and wasn’t… totally in control. He still felt tired, aching and as if he was being pulled along by some force stronger than himself. He didn’t know if it was actually an external kind of deal, or if he was subconsciously doing that for himself, but regardless; he ended up back on the porch. 

The day was young, dewy and bathed in a special kind of light, seeming a bit _ too _ familiar. The sun was right where he had left it, low in the sky, and Mcjones wondered if... this was still the _ same _ morning. What day was it? Still October, right? Last he’d checked, it was the 28th. Fae were weird with time, Mcjones had known that early on, so he wouldn’t say he was surprised if he was restarting the day completely. 

But only a moment after that realization, something _ else _caught his eye, the glint of sunlight off…

Mcjones found himself smiling again, a bit of prickling returning to his eyes. _ Wings. _

He leaned onto the porch railing, turning his head towards the path into the village, but Dean’s presence there wasn’t the only thing new. 

Dean sat before a slab of stone, as if actually _ mourning _ rather than just admiring his work, and Mcjones _ really _remembered, that time. He couldn’t tell if it said anything yet, but the upturned dirt and miraculously blooming flowers planted on both sides certainly told enough of the story. 

Mcjones considered just going back inside and heading back to bed, but again, he felt compelled by something stronger than himself. Be it fae powers, ghosts, or just the need to _ face this; _he sighed, and stepped off the porch, heading towards Dean.

He sat down next to Dean, pushing a little bit of loose dirt back towards the grave. The headstone was indeed still blank, and the flowers were definitely new; an array of snapdragons ranging from red to yellow to white. His eyes darted to Dean’s hair, the crown of that same flower still pristine; it was an interesting flower to _ wear _in such a way, Mcjones had no idea how one would make such a crown, but they were certainly pretty.

It occurred to him that Dean wasn’t wearing it in Mcjones’ dream. He wasn’t sure if he had his wings either, for that matter.

“Good morning,” Dean quietly sighed, breaking through the silent morning, although not without an undertone of sorrow in his voice, fatigue, considerate sympathy.

“... To you as well,” Mcjones replied, his eyes falling to the ground, to the cold grass and upturned dirt, and his shaking hands starting their revolt again. 

“I didn’t… write anything, obviously, you could make that later if you’d like, but…” Dean trailed off, vaguely gesturing to the headstone, struggling for words in that same kind of way that made Mcjones’ organs flip inside out. “Yeah. I should say again, really, my deepest apologies for all this, it’s… I couldn’t imagine what this might be like for you.”

Even now, rested and with a marginally clearer head, Mcjones still didn’t find himself wanting to resist or protect himself from Dean’s… _ everything. _Still, he believed him.

“It’s alright, I… I really appreciate it,” Mcjones assured, eyes slowly trailing back to Dean’s face, and he was struck by yet another one of those pangs. He had enough of them by then to write a book on each of their meanings, but this too was a new one. A sensation of emptiness, like a dried up river, that even seemed to compel him forwards. There was a word for it, surely, but his tongue was just as dry. “... You are most kind.” 

“It’s the least I could do,” Dean dismissed, and it made Mcjones _ hate _ how that was all he could find the words to say. This was by no means the least Dean could do, not in any sense of the phrase; he expected Dean to take his name and shove him into the fae realm to be discarded, probably to call him some awful names and push him into the creek Austin died in, for that matter. But he didn’t. Mcjones was able to accept in some capacity that Dean was being kind, but just like everything else, he had no idea _ why. _

“Oh, and you can have this back, by the way,” Dean added on, pulling the letter Mcjones gave him seemingly out of thin air and handing it back to him. Perfectly intact, to Mcjones’ surprise; if not a little yellowed. “Got a little beat up, but… Yeah. Didn’t need to follow it very far.”

Mcjones folded it up to be a little smaller and tucked it into his pocket. He really wasn’t expecting to get it back. Wasn’t expecting… any of this, and didn’t know _ why _everything was the way it was. Wasn't expecting a word to come out of nowhere, to describe the feeling in his chest; longing, perhaps?

… Well, if he wanted to understand, there was nothing to do but ask, Mcjones figured. 

“... So, what now?” Mcjones asked, wishing he could keep his voice from breaking. “You want my name now?”

“... When did I ever promise that?” Dean retorted, half of a smile finally returning to his face, but his eyes were still drenched in cautious compassion, enough to take Mcjones’ breath away. “Our agreement was that when we found your brother, you’d do anything I wanted, correct?”

“Yes,” Mcjones confirmed, eyebrows knitting together. “But the other day you… literally asked for my name. Forgive me for my assumption, but is that not… what you want?”

Dean laughed at that. _ Laughed. _ Laughed, not mocking or cruel in anyway, but _ genuinely, _smiling bright enough to almost blind him. 

“Oh, I did, didn’t I… You’re smart, I’ve told you that before, right? But really, Hargrave, that… That may have been what I wanted then, but it’s not what I want now.”

Mcjones had no idea what Dean meant by that. He was… definitely saying words, but…

“... What do you want, then?” Mcjones asked, and again, that feeling of reaching, that answer that was just out of his grasp, slipping through his fingers; he _ hated _ it. If he didn’t get it soon, he was pretty sure he was going to start crying again.

And Dean smiled again. Not malicious, not concealing anything at all, just smiling like any regular person. A sympathetic stranger, an acquaintance that understood much more than the average one might, a _ friend. _

“I want to help you, Hargrave. If you’ll let me, that is, but… Anything you need help with that has to do with all this, I’d be glad to, because… Oh my stars, this escalated quickly. And anything less wouldn’t be right of me.”

The words were just bouncing off Mcjones again, rattling around in his skull for a moment before jumbling together and shattering. It didn’t make _ any _sense what Dean was saying, absolutely none of it. Maybe for a Seelie fae, but him? After everything, it…

“I don’t understand,” Mcjones muttered, pushing down the rising feeling in his throat, behind his eyes, because he was already pushing his luck with all _ this. _ He didn’t want to break down again. _ Never again, _ideally. 

But he knew, really quite well, that he was _ miles _away from never again, if it was even possible. 

Dean responded by laying a hand on Mcjones’ shoulder, one that both shocked him out of his mind and was warm enough to make him melt into the touch almost immediately. Come to think of it, disregarding the hug they had just shared, Mcjones wasn’t sure when was the last time he was _ touched _ by another human being. By _ any _ other being, he should say. Was it the day Austin went missing? _ … God, _that was much too long. 

“... You’ve no idea how good you really are, do you?” Dean chuckled, a tone that was again, so _ un-faelike _ that it was jarring. Yet so alluring, so… special. Mcjones would call it _ honesty _ if he were more bold. “You’re very bright. And funny, and… you didn’t deserve any of this. And I’m not being a very good fae by admitting this, I know, but… I like you.”

Well, for one, Mcjones wasn’t sure how bright he really was, after spending all those months in denial, believing that Austin was just living it up in the fae realm. But that didn’t seem appropriate to bring up in that moment, and Mcjones found himself much more captivated by the last part of that sentence. That...

Oh, now that was a line that was _ lethal. _ Paradoxically so, but very much _ faelike_, because Mcjones was sure that such a remark could and _ would _ kill him. Dean actually _ liked him. _ How the hell had that happened? How the hell did he actually mean it? Why exactly was it that such a remark was so sharp, tearing through Mcjones’ chest and leaving his heart for the taking? Why was _ that _the thing that would cause Mcjones’ inevitable downfall at Dean’s hands?

Why was it that he was on the verge of tears, yet smiling at the same time?

“Oh- Oh my stars, don’t cry,” Dean teased, pushing him gently, mirroring Mcjones’ smile. That made Mcjones laugh, which was just as unexpected; in any other instance, he’d be _ terrified, _ but only in hindsight. In the moment, he couldn’t focus on anything but _ Dean. _“I’m just saying, you’ve made a soft spot for yourself, alright? Rejoice, I guess.”

And rejoice, Mcjones did, slowly lowering his head onto Dean’s shoulder. 

Even as they were sitting in front of Austin’s grave, almost directly on top of his body; smiling felt like it was what Austin would have wanted.

\---

Two weeks had passed since Austin’s body was found. Well into November by then, they had held their miniature funeral, with a headstone that actually said Austin’s name now, celebrated the harvest, and began preparing for the retreat into their homes as winter approached. 

And Mcjones sat with Dean at the kitchen table, idly staring out the window as the days grew visibly colder. Eggs and bacon for himself, honey toast and a muffin doused in powdered sugar for Dean. And as absurd as it was, Mcjones felt like he was starting to regain a little normalcy. Regardless of the wings and all the sugar he’d prepared this early in the morning; he was happy, for the first time in a long while. He could get used to this.

… But there was no point in that either. Things would have to change, as they always did.

“Can I ask you a question?” Mcjones asked, splitting up his eggs into little pieces as he watched Dean struggle with not losing all the sugar on top of his muffin. Mcjones felt a bit bad for not making it more… _ accessible, _but it was still kind of adorable. As he had come to find out, he liked Dean too.

“You just did,” Dean replied, eating some of the sugar out of his palm.

“How about two more?”

“Go right ahead.”

_ Now or never, _ Mcjones thought to himself, another wave of deja vu lapping at his ankles. Another reckless decision, just like when he first called upon Dean’s help, but again, he _ knew _this was what he had to do. Or, at least, wanted.

“... What’s it like in the fae realm?”

Dean perked up at the mention, carefully placing his muffin back on his plate. He tilted his head to the side, wiping some stray sugar from the side of his mouth.

“... The fae realm… Well, I mean, that would depend on where you go,” Dean chuckled, leaning over the table to get closer to Mcjones. “Where I come from, it’s very… wintery, if you can believe that. There are all these crystals, they’re gorgeous, I mean you’d have to see it to believe it- and I hope you’re good at ice skating, because there’s a lot of that going on.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever gone,” Mcjones mused, already giddy at the answer Dean was giving him.

“Oh. Well, I’m sure you’d learn. You’re limber. But oh, it’s great there. A lot of the people there could be considered… jarring, for a human, but nothing you couldn’t handle, I’m sure,” Dean continued on, a smile steadily growing on his face. Quickly, he took a bite of his toast. “... Why do you ask?”

Mcjones sighed, tapping his fork against the side of his plate. He knew he’d have to spit it out, but it was still bittersweet.

“... I don’t want to stay here.”

Dean’s face fell. Surely, he was expecting some reasoning like that, but still, it wasn’t all sunshine and snowy crystals. “... Oh. I understand.”

Mcjones nodded, swallowing another morsel of eggs, but feeling a weight starting to lift off of his shoulders. He’d said it; Dean had his word.

“I wouldn’t be able to leave for a while, I don’t want to just… abandon this place, and I’d say goodbye to everyone and all that, but…” Mcjones trailed off, shaking his head. “I can’t stay here. It’s just… not right.”

“No, I understand,” Dean reassured, reaching a hand over the table to clasp on top of Mcjones’. “I… Really, I’d be glad to show you around. Might have to give you wings so you’ll fit in, but gladly. Gladly.”

Mcjones smiled, already excited. He wondered what having wings would feel like. They weren’t heavy, were they?

“Can I ask you something, though?” Dean shot back, gaining back his smile in record time.

"Go ahead."

"If you're going to come with me, is there something you'd prefer I call you?" Dean asked, taking his hand back in order to focus on his muffin again. Mcjones may have been a little more sad about the loss than was necessary, but _ alas _. “Cause Hargrave isn’t exactly it, is it?”

"Thought you'd never ask," Mcjones replied, taking a bite of his bacon. "But… Mcjones. It's not my real name, I guess, but it's what Au- Well… What everyone calls me."

There was that sparkle in Dean's eye again, that spark of life that Mcjones was so head over heels for.

"Mcjones," Dean repeated, and just _ hearing _ the name from Dean made Mcjones' heart flutter and nearly fly away. "... Then it shall be done."

One more declaration of _ "you are most kind," _ and they both got back to their breakfasts.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay AAAAAA tysm for reading!! i really love this story and im really proud of it, im still a little upset with myself that it got so long for no conceivable reason and my brain hurt a lot while writing but. i really love it so shout out,,, austin sweetie im so sorry, but i really want to draw those boys at some point so,, keep an eye out for that maybe but. yeah!! thanks for taking the time yall :^)
> 
> fae rights...


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